


Der ‘Cowboy’ Alfred im Texas

by AsWeAreNow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Accents, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28818402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsWeAreNow/pseuds/AsWeAreNow
Summary: America is told that he needs to get Germany to like him. America decides that the only way to do this is to dress up as a cowboy and do cowboy things for that ultra-American experience.
Relationships: America & Germany (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Der ‘Cowboy’ Alfred im Texas

**Author's Note:**

> First appeared on FFN on 23 September, 2020. Crossposted from FFN, under an account of the same name.

American-German relations were totally fantastic: America would say "Yo, Germany's pretty lit for a European"; Germany, confirming these positive feelings, would say "Wir sind keine Partner- wir sind _Freunde_." That was all good and stuff, but it didn't mean much; America's words had lost all merit since he was always talking, and Germany tolerated America with the hopes that he would be different in four to eight years.

Even so, America couldn't help realizing that Germany didn't really like him. This was rather amazing in and of itself; if America couldn't ignore it, surely it was an actual problem. (Germany actually didn't like America, but he didn't dislike him either; Germany never really knew how to feel about America, as a person or as a nation.)

That needed to change, America's boss had decided, so he told America to invite Germany over and make Germany like him. That was a lot of pressure, all things considered, and since America hadn't talked to Germany in a rather long time it would be a very difficult task indeed.

America briefly considered asking if he could borrow his neighbor's dog, but he'd heard that such methods didn't go over as well these days. Instead he went over German, because the best way to put someone at ease is to speak to them in their native language. This was what he always did when he was trying to handle diplomatic matters; he knew most modern-day languages, but not particularly well, and this was always a necessary process.

What America really needed was a refresher, so he decided he would go over kids' songs first. He'd watch cartoons and listen to nursery rhymes and shit and gradually progress over a few days until he was able to watch extremely graphic sexual movies while only questioning himself rather than what the actors were saying.

America was clicking mindlessly through kids' songs when he stumbled across a particularly interesting one: _Der Cowboy Jim aus Texas_. It amused him very much, and it seemed to have a lot of views, too. Next he found himself searching, 'Cowboy deutsch Kinder'.

There were a lot of results, and most were what you'd expect- German kids' videos based on cowboys... and Indians, for whatever reason (as in, both of them together). Everyone in America knew how that went, but America could only assume the Germans didn't.

America looked into the phenomenon a bit more and discovered that American Western culture was somewhat big in Germany because of some random dead novelist. That made sense; that was how a lot of things gained popularity. America could spare himself 'Scheiße porn', and even all of the children's bullshit in general. He had a different plan.

* * *

Cowboys, America decided, were not Southern. They were obviously Western, but these days the West was filled with city slickers who were just living their best lives. There were still cowboys in the West, but why would you go to the West if you didn't want to go hiking, skiing, to the beach, to a major city, or to get high? So then there was the Midwest, which held the actual Cowboy State, Wyoming, but why would you go to the Greatest Country on the Whole Entire Goddamn Motherfucking Planet, Possibly the Whole Ass Galaxy, just to see Yellowstone and look at painted boots? Maybe to go to a rodeo, but then you could just go to Colorado... which was also where you would go to get high and go skiing. In other words, America had to go to Texas so he could change everything about himself in order to razzle-dazzle Germany into liking him.

America had never lived down South or out West or even somewhat out of the Northern region before. He loved New York; it was home (but only the city because every time he went outside of New York City he saw a lot of Americans waving white flags and doing other weird shit).

As it was, America was a bit uncomfortable in this getup. Here he was, wearing a cowboy outfit unironically, and he felt just a little bit silly. Like an actor. City slicker that he was, America had little reason to wear a cowboy outfit, stylistically or otherwise, unless it was Halloween and he needed a kid-friendly costume.

America pulled at the leather fringes of his jacket, shifting. It was so goddamn hot; he didn't know how people had done it before. Maybe it was global warming or some shit. America didn't really know; all he knew was that he preferred his states long-term industrialized, his depressions free of dust, and his winters cold as a politician's heart. (America actually hated the cold, but the most depressing Christmas he'd ever had was spent stuck in traffic in Honolulu, forced to listen to 'Let it Snow' because there was nothing else on the radio and his phone was dead.)

Now that he thought about it, Germany's 'obsession' wasn't much of a surprise. This wasn't even the first time he'd heard of it. Germany's love for Western culture had given rise to several issues at different points, but since America hadn't dealt with them personally, he had forgotten about them. Besides, it had only been a little problematic... Okay, maybe it had been quite a bit problematic, but America was a master at sugarcoating history and he would do that for today, the next few days, and also for the rest of his life. Although, he still didn't understand why so many German speakers who'd never been to America wrote unrealistic novels about him...

America adjusted his hat, frowning. He didn't particularly enjoy wearing hats, but he would have to deal. Germany would like him better if he was a completely different person, surely. Still... he couldn't even wear his glasses because his glasses were timeless and lame. It wasn't like Texas helped him keep his head on anyway, and he'd never really particularly missed Texas before... but that was different. Texas was supposed to be on his face now. It was not.

Texas or no Texas, America spotted Germany up ahead. America pulled forward and rolled down the window. "Heya there, Germany!" Immediately America realized he'd fucked up. This needed to be an authentic experience; he really did have to change everything about himself. "Ah- ah, um... Ah mean, heeeyyyy there, German...eh." America's voice cracked. He coughed to try to hide it.

"Hallo, Amerika." Germany responded, seemingly not noticing. America breathed a silent sigh of relief. This was the only chance he'd get to right himself.

Germany placed his bag in the backseat and turned to America. America stared back. Germany was probably better at being a cowboy than he was, goddamnit. Staring into Germany's eyes, everything became crystal clear to America: Germany could sense his fear. Even so, Germany continued at him in a way that would be very offensive or downright terrifying if America was a woman... or at least, it seemed that way to the already intimidated America. Finally Germany said, "Um... Is it a holiday or somezink?"

"Nah, nah," America stammered. "It's- it's lahk mashic. Ah change every tahm Ah go t' a new reg- region." America was totally murdering the stereotypical accent, but it was only so often that he flew into his Southern states or consumed media that wasn't Californian. America knew what a stereotypical Southern accent looked like, and he knew that he most certainly was not imitating it perfectly, but if he just _radiated_ Southern, Germany would totally believe him.

Germany raised an eyebrow at him, but did not comment. Instead he said, "Should vee go?"

"Yeah, totally." America started to drive and they sat in silence for a fair while until Germany asked,

"Vere are vee goink?"

"We're goin' t'... ah..." America hadn't thought about that. "T' a restaurant! Yeah! An then'll go home!"

"Sounds great, Amerika."

America willed Germany to be quiet so he didn't have to talk. Germany would have done this either way, because he had nothing to say. America, by contrast, had loads of things to say, but he was a little embarrassed. His head hurt without Texas anyway, so it was best that there was little noise.

America drove around for twenty minutes, looking for somewhere cowboy-ish enough to eat at. They were smack-dab in the middle of Austin, and there was no getting around that. Damn these people, just living their lives instead of being convenient.

Eventually America settled on an Outback Steakhouse. He didn't speak; all of the Southerners would be able to hear him sticking out like a sore thumb, surely. Of course Germany could, too, since he'd at least been around America enough to know that he had a more neutral accent, one where he pronounced all of his letters except the 'h' in 'herb' and all those unpronounced vowels in words of French origin.

America ordered with something resembling difficulty. Germany ordered as well. Drinks came first.

Germany had ordered water and America had ordered orange juice. He hoped they used Californian oranges, or at least Floridian ones. If Germany could've just been obsessed with Hollywood or something, this would've been so much easier...

"So, vy dit you vant me here?" Germany asked.

_Just conversation. You can do this, America._ He silently encouraged himself for a few more moments and then blurted, "Ah just figured we could spend a bitta tahm together, yanno?"

"Ah. Right." A frown flashed across Germany's face ever so briefly before he added, "Das Essen ist gut."

America laughed heroically, which was what he always did while desperately hoping that the people in his life really did like him instead of merely tolerate him. "'A course it is, Germany! Wah would anyone eat food that's not? We're all gon' dahh one day, ain't that raht?"

Germany stared at him and then opened his mouth to speak. He froze for a moment before deciding to condemn America to silence.

America pretended to focus on his food, but instead he wondered if food would be enough to get Germany to like him.

"Zere's zis vort in German. I'm sure you know it- 'Gemütlichkeit'. It's more of a reference to ze atmosphere. It means cheerfulness, or varms. I zink you have accomplished zat."

"Oh, thanks." America brightened, recovering quickly. He beamed at Germany, who afforded a small, uncomfortable smile back.

America paid and they went back to his house.

...

America didn't know what he would do tomorrow, but that was fine because it was not yet tomorrow. He changed into different, more comfortable clothing, glad to not have to pretend anymore. Some of his citizens really were cowboys, and that was good for them, but America was not.

America put on his glasses and laid in bed, very glad to have them back on his face.

* * *

At breakfast the next day, America's boss called him. America despised his boss, but this was a necessary call.

"Hello," America said... already, the call was off to a bad start.

"Hi, Alfred. What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh, right... yeah, 'bout that Medicare..."

"You're not getting Medicare."

"Ah'm over two-hundred! Whaddaya mean, Ah'm not gettin' Medicare?"

"Why are you speaking in a Southern accent? Is Germany with you?"

"...Yeah."

"Jesus Christ. Everything about you is absolutely horrible." His boss hung up on him.

America turned to Germany and said, "Ah wish someone Medicared about me." It was the only thing he could think to say. Germany didn't laugh.

...

America took him to a rodeo afterward. It was somewhat far away, so they were stuck in the car together for a while.

They didn't have anything to say to each other, not even once they got there. America found it a little hard to follow along, because he didn't get the terminology as well as he should have. That didn't even matter, because America could see, very clearly, that a man was, uh... holding onto a bull for dear life? or was it a deranged cow? There weren't too many bulls or cows in New York City, except for the Charging Bull, and America didn't live too close to it. The dude got bucked off the animal and that was entertaining, but what was the difference?... and that was how America found himself on his phone when he was supposed to be watching a rodeo.

As the man staggered away, America looked up. Further ahead there was a man on a horse, so he didn't know what that was about. It was cool, America supposed, but seriously- he had no idea, and he wondered if anyone else had any idea either. Maybe he'd go to Wyoming for a while to get reconnected with this part of his culture... or maybe Colorado. Somewhere with people.

He looked to Germany. Germany seemed happy, although it was hard to tell. Of course it was easy for Germany to be happy about this; he didn't have to expect himself to understand, and if he did understand then he definitely didn't know the ins-and-outs of what was, to America, an all-but-foreign occurrence. Germany didn't even have to know! That's the great thing about learning things one isn't really connected to; one always thinks their knowledge is sufficient.

...

Somewhere in the afternoon America managed to secure corn dogs and funnel cake, which was some of the healthier stuff he could find. Germany accepted a corn dog, but didn't seem to want anything else.

They stayed a few more hours, just until families were starting to leave, and then America found a nice American diner to go to. America liked American food; of course he did. However, some of America's most popular foods were bastardized versions of German food (or rather, America's most popular foods were very American, but based off of German dishes that weren't really 1776 levels of American but relied heavily on shit from the Americas). As it was, Germany didn't like America's food so much.

* * *

Ah, a new day of American activities.

For a long time, Germany had seen America as incredibly wasteful. Wasteful nations are dangerous nations, either to themselves or others, and this had been bad at the time, but now... Germany wasn't sure. That was what he thought about now.

They were at a shooting range. Germany had shooting ranges, too, but they were expensive. Since America had taken him to one, Germany had assumed they weren't expensive here. American shooting ranges were still expensive. (Germany assumed it depended on where you went, but he'd only been in this one.)

Germany himself didn't own a gun; he wasn't allowed to for... reasons... and he was fine with that. He didn't need one anyway; he was a German, after all, which meant that if the metro wasn't on schedule one day he could probably walk and get out of it with nothing but annoyance.

It was fun to shoot... there weren't too many other ways to describe it. At least the pair didn't have to say anything; there was almost no need to do so, really. And still, Germany couldn't help asking,

"Vy do your people zink zey need guns?"

"Ta faht a-gain-st a t'rannical government, man dude!" America responded almost immediately.

It wasn't that Germany couldn't see the logic behind that, but he couldn't help wondering what good that was going to do if America had to choose his leaders himself with a close-to-majority vote. "Oh," was all he could really think to say.

"But also self-defense. That's important, too."

Germany was a bit more satisfied with that answer, but that had come as an afterthought and this would have worried him if he actually cared much for America.

"So, whaddaya wanna do now?" America asked. He drummed his fingers against the wheel- at some point while Germany was zoned out, they had made it to the car- and beamed rather brilliantly. Germany could not force himself to smile back.

"I don't know. Vatever you vant is fine."

"Ah- but Ah've been draggin' ya around! Come on, ya cain't possibly have nothin' ya wanna do, cain ya?"

"Nein. Nichts."

...

It was so goddamn hot. Normally America would've been happy to take Germany to go see some totally awesome American history in which, no matter where you happened to be or what you were talking about, the guys that were from _here_ were good and those _other_ guys were totally fucked up and everything was done for the sake of freedom and democracy. It was magic, really, but magic could not beat the heat. It was too goddamn hot.

Instead they played a video game. After all, if America wasn't with Germany he couldn't get Germany to like him.

They mostly played in silence, aside from the game's audio, until Germany asked something that took America by surprise: "Vy are you doink zis?"

"Doin' what?" America asked, the accent resting slightly easier on his tongue now- enough to be an actual accent instead of a horrible mix of every Southern dialect you could think of. All it took was a bit of time.

"Ze accent, und... zose boots of yours. Ant ze hat."

"I thought you liked cowboy stuff. Better than you liked me, anyway," America admitted. He dropped the accent immediately; there was no point in continuing once he'd been called out.

"So zis whole zink vas a plot to get me to like you?" Germany put down his controller.

"Um... yeah."

"Vy? Your boss is an asshole; zat's vy public opinion is down. It has nozink to do vis you- only your people."

"Well, my boss is an asshole," America agreed. "So that's reassuring." America yanked at his collar for the millionth time. "Did it... did it help? The cowboy thing? To get you to like my people a little bit more?"

"No," Germany replied.

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"Oh."

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t really like writing accents, but at the time I felt that the Southern accent was essential to this story and then it was only fair to write the German accent as well.
> 
> A comment would be hella lit. Have an awesome day/night and stay safe.


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